


that which the world knows not

by see_addy_write



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 05:45:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/pseuds/see_addy_write
Summary: With Isobel in stasis and what seems like the entire town finding out their secret, Max is shutting down. Liz is there for him.Post 1X09 "Songs about Texas" and canon through that episode.





	that which the world knows not

**Author's Note:**

> hi! Roswell, New Mexico has sucked me in since episode one & of course, when i'm obsessed, i write fic. originally i was going to start with malex, because the two of them are ripping my heart out, but there is virtually no Echo fic on here, which i thought was a travesty. 
> 
> in 1X05, after Max finds out that Isobel mind-warped Liz to get her to leave town after high school, he has a line that's something like, "I've never been happy, not once. Do you know what got me out of bed every morning? How much I loved the two of you." as someone who's struggled with depression, that sent up a flag for me, and thus, a headcanon was born that Max has been dealing with depression for a long time, and the people he cares about are the motivation he uses to push through. 
> 
> be warned: this is 8k of fluff and h/c, you guys. with all the angst in the show, my brain wanted to give these two some happy(ish) time together before it's inevitably ruined in the next episode or so. it's set post 1x09, so if you haven't seen it, i advise not reading because there are some pretty significant spoilers. 
> 
> find me on tumblr at seeaddywrite to flail with me about Roswell NM, or send me a prompt! :)

After she could finally admit to herself — and say the words aloud — Liz knew there were no more reasons to keep herself from Max. Not when she wanted so desperately to be with him. The last line of defense was that he didn’t know the woman she’d become in the years after high school, that he had some idealized fantasy vision of who she was to love in his mind. When he tore down that final wall, though, by pointing out every one of her worst failings and promised that he loved her despite of them — or maybe because of them? — Liz hadn’t been able to hold herself back any longer. 

Kissing Max was just as devastating as she’d imagined it would be at seventeen. High school Liz had been right, a decade ago, when she told a boy who had always made her feel warm and safe that if they kissed, she’d give up all of her plans for him. Even now, as well-armored against his charms as she’d believed herself to be, every one of her protests had melted away in the face of Max’s lips against hers. The idea that the world moved when one kissed their true love had always seemed a fairy tale, or a dream born of childish naïveté, but Liz would swear that the honest emotion in Max’s kiss had honestly tilted her world on its axis, and even if they decided to end things the next day, it would never spin quite the same again. 

Naturally, an hour after life seemed to finally be looking up, all hell broke loose. Isobel’s husband found out about the pods, about her otherworldly heritage. Kyle revealed that Alex Manes knew the truth, and was investigating the trio of aliens for fourteen murders — thirteen of which Isobel could not have committed. Micheal went off the rails when he realized that Alex had figured them out, and Max — well. Max bore it all with the same determined stoicism he’d adopted for the last several weeks, since Liz found out the truth of what had really happened to her sister. 

Until he couldn’t anymore. 

In retrospect, all of the signs were there. Over the crazy, terrifying days that followed their first kiss, Max grew so tense that he seemed to be carved from granite, even in motion, and the blue-black shadows beneath his eyes started to resemble bruises. He got quieter, more prone to outbursts when questioned, and when Liz reached for his hand, there was always a moment of hesitation, like Max was questioning whether he deserved the touch or not. She should have realized what it all meant, that the person she was supposed to be dating was getting close to the edge, but in all honesty, Liz just didn’t know Max well enough to see it. He’d only ever shown her the calm, comforting side of himself, aside from a few select interactions that were better left forgotten, and Liz hadn’t realized how bad things could get. 

“You need to go to Max’s.” Micheal’s rough demand was easy to identify after all of the time spent together in her lab at the hospital, even through the din of the crowd at the Crash Down. It was a Saturday, and Liz’s Papa had begged her to help in the diner since she didn’t need to be at the hospital. 

Looking up from the register, Liz raised an eyebrow at her sort-of friend. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, when we test the antidote for Isobel,” she said quietly, after making sure none of the other customers would overhear anything that might make them ask questions. 

Micheal shook his head, forcefully enough that his curls bounced against his forehead. He waited impatiently for the last person at the counter to disappear back to his booth with the order of fries he’d paid for, and leaned over his elbows on the the white countertop to put his mouth by her ear. “Not good enough, Ortecho. You need to get over there today. Like now. Preferably before he blows all the power to the city again and we end up with an even bigger target on our backs.”

Micheal was one of the most intense people Liz had ever met — he swung wildly between cold callousness and genuine care, hidden between a wall of bluster, and she never knew which way the wind would blow when they spoke. Today, it was the latter, and the wall was weaker than usual, allowing her to see past it to the worry he felt. 

“What’s wrong with Max?” Liz met the other man demand for demand, matched him stare for stare. “He seemed all right when I saw him last.” 

“He seemed all right?” Liz prickled defensively at the incredulity in Micheal’s voice. “The last time you saw him, we were making contingency plans in case he’s captured or killed, Liz. He’s not fucking all right. He’s been a mess for weeks, and it’s just getting worse! Cameron told Alex he’s missed two shifts at the station, and she got shut down fast when she tried to talk to him about it.” That wasn’t surprising, in Liz’s book, since the blonde cop had apparently been spying on Max for Jesse Manes, but she could understand that wasn’t Micheal’s point. 

“After he shut Cameron down, Alex and I rode out there, but he wouldn’t even let us in the door. I had to pick the lock —” He waved the fingers of his good hand pointedly, as if Liz didn’t know that the only lock-picking skills he had was with his powers. “And I still got tossed out on my ass.” Frustration glittered in the depths of Micheal’s eyes, and Liz managed not get a handle on her defensive anger. He wasn’t blaming her for not noticing; he was blaming himself for not being able to help Max. There was a big, big difference, and the two of them were on the same team. Liz needed to stop forgetting that. 

Slowly, Liz closed the drawer of the register she’d had hanging open all this time and sat down at one of the counter stools. “But I don’t know to stop him from losing control,” she told Micheal in a low, furtive voice. “Last time, he lost it because of me. I’ve seen him use his powers at all like three times, total. And this stuff between us is so new —” 

There was a noticeable tic in Micheal’s jaw, now. “New? Come on, Liz, you’re supposed to be smart,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ten years of Max being in love with you doesn’t disappear because you weren’t around to figure it out. You don’t need to understand his powers to help him — you just need to be there.” 

As always, the reminder of the strength and depth of Max’s feelings for her made Liz catch her bottom lip between her teeth and exhale shakily. Logically, she knew that Max didn’t resent her for not being able to return all of that feeling yet, but it was hard to accept that anyone, let alone Max Evans, could love her so completely without feeling some degree of pressure to feel the same. 

“If he wouldn’t listen to you, I just don’t see why he’d listen to me,” Liz said finally, not sure how to feel about the truth in that statement. Her heart hurt at the admission, because part of her wanted to be the person Max could lean on and unburden himself with. The pragmatist in her, however, told her that Micheal had been sharing Max’s secrets since before they even arrived on Earth, and that he was far more likely to be able to get through to him than she ever was. So if Micheal got thrown out? Going over there would just be an exercise in futility. “I’ll try, but I always end up saying the wrong thing when he’s hurting. And I don’t like being the one to kick him while he’s down.” 

Even now, after days of togetherness and her assurances that she’d forgiven him for his deceit, Max still showed all the signs of thinking he’d wake up the next day and find her gone, still wore the wounds of the last ten years. Wounds that she’d put there, and now couldn’t heal. Liz wasn’t sorry that she’d left Roswell in the wake of Rosa’s death; how could she be, knowing all of the incredible experiences she would have missed out on if she hadn’t? Travel, college, friends and lovers, a job she’d adored — Liz wouldn’t be herself if she’d never done those things, and she knew that she would never have been happy with Max, if she had given them up. There was no unnecessary guilt over the way she’d treated him after finding out the truth of Rosa’s death, either. She’d had to deal with the emotional fall-out from those revelations alone, and find her own way to forgiveness, and that was okay. Good, even. 

What Liz did regret was the pain she’d caused Max. There may not have been a way to avoid it, and she may have made all the right choices, but there was no denying that her actions had irrevocable consequences, and she had no idea how to begin fixing the damage that had been done. Maybe that was why the idea of going to see Max now, when he needed help, seemed so daunting.

“Look. I’m not pretending to be an expert, here, okay? Max and I — we’re trying, but ten years of getting sick at the sight of each other is hard to get over. I’d die for him, but I’m not going to pretend I know how to talk to him anymore.” The admission was incredibly honest, coming from Micheal, and Liz was speechless with surprise as he continued. “Isobel’s always been the one to balance him out, at least since high school. She can’t do it this time. You can. Trust me. I wouldn’t be here debating with you if I didn’t think that was true.” 

There was utter certainty in the words, and suddenly, Liz wondered if Alex hadn’t managed to do for him what he was asking Liz to do for Max. The other man definitely seemed calmer, today, and had mentioned going out to his sort-of brother’s house with the airman, and she knew they’d been spending more time together, after the initial blow-up that was Micheal and Max’s secret being uncovered. But the two of them had been on-and-off for years, and had to know each other better than she knew Max — but that was just another excuse, wasn’t it? 

“Do I even want to know how Alex calmed you down?” Liz couldn’t resist teasing him, though she was already unknotting the apron she wore and folding it neatly beneath the counter and waving at her father to signal she was leaving. “Because I’m telling you now, I’m not having sex with Max for the first time while he’s barely holding himself together.” 

It was incredibly gratifying to see the tips of Micheal’s ears turn red, even if he managed to keep any trace of embarrassment from his facial expression. Had she called that one or what?

“You’re the one who mentioned sex, Ortecho. Feeling a little frustrated?” 

Liz smacked him on the shoulder with the towel she used to wipe down the counter, wondering when she’d become so comfortable with Micheal Guerin, of all people, that she was willing to joke around with him about such personal subjects. It was a whole new world, apparently. “All right, all right, fine. I’ll just ask Alex next time I see him —”

“Get a picture of him when he turns red, will ya?” Micheal requested with a straight face. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride out to Max’s if you stop speculating about my sex life.”

The ride to the outskirts of Roswell where Max lived was companionable, and Micheal did his best to explain why he was so worried about his chosen brother in his typical fashion — meaning that he wouldn’t admit to being worried, and called Max a ‘dumbass’ every time he opened his mouth. In his mind, the defacto leader of their little trio was pushing everyone away in an effort to protect them, and, as usual, hadn’t given any thought to himself while he did so. It was so typically, quintessentially Max that Liz couldn’t even bring herself to be surprised. She did, however, wish she’d noticed sooner. It was humiliating to have to have Micheal point out that the man she cared so deeply for was struggling. 

And then, of course, there was more, and the niggling guilt that she’d born since realizing how deeply she’d hurt Max grew. 

“After what happened with Rosa, he lost it for a while,” Micheal said starkly. “Went out camping by himself and refused to come back because he blew all the fuses in his parents’ house, and Isobel said he just — sat there. Slept, mostly. Took her a week or so to snap him out of it, and when she did, he was different.” The melancholy in the words made sense. The three of them had all been forced to change by what happened to Rosa, just as Liz herself had, only in a vastly different way. The thought sent a mixture of anger and grief radiating through her, and she banished it quickly. Some days, it was still hard to let go of the past, but she truly had forgiven Max and the others for their actions. It was just that some days were easier than others. 

“It’s not that bad now, though, is it?” Liz asked, fairly sure that it wasn’t. She’d seen Max two days prior, and he he’d been responding to questions and coming up with solutions, just like the rest of them. 

Micheal shrugged, eyes determinedly on the road as they pulled into Max’s driveway. “Go see for yourself. And shoot me a text, at some point, or Alex is going to think I sent you into the ring with a lion and no chair.” 

With a promise to do so, Liz slid out of the truck and to the porch of Max’s home, the bags of take-out from the diner she’d brought weighing her down. Though part of her wanted to stall, to walk slowly to give herself time to come up with some sort of plan, Liz all but jogged to the front door. If Max needed her, she didn’t want to be standing outside while he suffered, no matter what her intentions were. 

No one answered her knock, so Liz opened the door with the spare key Micheal had told her about. (“He hides it under the fucking doormat. You’d think being a cop would’ve made him less of a dumbass, wouldn’t you?”) The living room was dark with no signs of life, so Liz dropped off the food in the kitchen and walked back the hallway to the bedroom, wondering if it said something about their relationship that the first time she’d be in there, it was for this and not the passionate encounter she would have preferred. 

“Max? Are you in there?” The door was closed, and there was no light beneath it to suggest he was, but his car was out front and there weren’t many other places in the house that he wouldn’t have seen her already. Sighing, Liz tried the doorknob and found it unlocked — so, in her usual bull-headed fashion, she opened the door and walked into the room. 

The bedroom, like the rest of Max’s home, was decorated and homey — Isobel’s doing, he’d confessed to her when asked. She hadn’t approved of the ‘bachelor pad look,’ apparently, and had dragged their mother in to help. The result was a lovely space, and Liz had to admit that the Evans’ women had done a good thing. If left to his own devices, Max would have been surrounded by piles of books and little else, and that wasn’t good for anyone, especially someone already as isolated from other people as Max was — or had been. These days, Max was spending a lot of time with their small group of friends, all dedicated to helping him protect his family. Liz, especially. 

The man himself was sprawled across the mattress in the center of the room, his bare back visible over the tangled duvet and sheets. His face was facing away from her, but Liz could assume he was sleeping, since she hadn’t exactly been subtle about barging into the room. Chewing on her bottom lip in indecision, she watched him breathe for a long moment. It was the middle of the day; obviously, sleeping right now wasn’t great. Max hadn’t been getting a lot of rest lately, though — none of them had been. So maybe it wasn’t anything to read into? 

Slowly, Liz kicked off the sensible heels she wore and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hand landed at the exposed nape of Max’s neck before she’d made a conscious decision to touch him, and her fingers kneaded gently at the muscle there before sliding down his spine in a long, careful caress. The man pushed back unconsciously into her touch, something he’d always done when Liz offered it, and she couldn’t help the warm smile that spread her lips at the clear reminder of how much Max Evans loved and trusted her, even in sleep. 

With that firmly in mind, Liz lay down on the mattress and pressed her body against his back, one arm tucking itself around his slim waist. Feeling a little bolder, she kissed his shoulder and smiled into the warmth of his skin. “If you don’t wake up soon, this is going to be creepy instead of cute,” she remarked conversationally to the room, and shook his shoulder as gently as she could, not wanting to startle him.

It didn’t work. Max jumped at the sudden movement, his eyes flashing open, and confusion reigned in their depths when he turned his head to look back at her. He looked so different from his usual self; in times of trial, she had taken to looking toward him, trusting him to keep both herself and the others safe. No other man save her father had ever given Liz that feeling of security, and it bothered her that she’d become so dependent on it. Max couldn’t be the one everyone else looked to for guidance and safety. They needed to become their own saviors, too. 

“Liz? What — how did you get in here?” 

She couldn’t quite suppress the smile at his first question, and leaned forward to brush her lips against his. “You keep the spare key under your doormat,” she reminded him lightly, the fingers of one hand combing soothingly through his hair. “It wasn’t hard to find it.” Leaving Micheal out of the explanation, at least for now, seemed wisest, especially when Max looked so fragile. 

“Did we have plans? I thought we were seeing each other tomorrow.” Liz didn’t like the confusion in his eyes. It was the look she’d seen on confused patients in the hospital, who’d been drugged or unconscious and lost days or weeks of their lives and needed to piece together a timeline. Was Max sleeping enough that he was worried he’d lost an entire day? 

“We were — we are. I got done early at the diner, and I missed you.” It wasn’t a lie. She missed him any time they were apart, lately, and was, quite frankly, disturbed by her neediness. That was a concern for another time, however. When Max could be her support while she worried. For now, she was going to be his. . . like a true partnership should be. 

If Max was surprised by the easy admission, he didn’t really show it. A small, sad attempt at a smile flickered around the corners of his lips as he looked at her, and Liz rugged at a piece of his hair. “All right, mister, time to get up. I brought dinner from the diner, and it’s probably already cold.” 

Without waiting for him to answer— because something told her he would try to argue — Liz kissed him chastely and slid out of the bed, rearranging the black tank top-and-jacket combo she wore so that it didn’t look like she’d been rolling around in bed with her boyfriend. 

After a moment, she heard Max move behind her, the bed groaning beneath his weight. When she allowed herself to look back, he was shoving his legs into a pair of sweats, his torso exposed. She couldn’t tell if it was her imagination put on high-alert from Micheal’s worry, or reality, but Liz thought that Max definitely looked thinner than he had when she came back to Roswell.

Clenching her jaw, Liz reminded herself that until recently, she hadn’t been in a place to help Max. There was nothing she could have done except make things worse, no matter how guilty she felt right now. She’d been too angry, too terrified, too out of place in this world— but now, separated from Rosa’s death with some real closure, that had changed, and it was high time she supported Max in the way he’d done for her. 

“Coming?” 

Max has somehow gotten ahead of her, and was holding the door open. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, which she definitely didn’t mind, and his hair was tousled from the time he’d spent in bed, and the look in his eyes as he stared at her— as usual, the want and love there struck her straight in the stomach, and this time, Liz didn’t even try to resist wrapping her arms around his waist and hauling him into a kiss. She tried to say everything that got tangled on her tongue through that one gesture— how much she cared for him, how sorry she was that she couldn’t yet say ‘I love you’ and be sure it was true, how worried she was...

Max drew back, his head tilted to one side, dark eyes on her face. “Liz?” Her bane was a query and an order, all at once, sympathy and insistence all tangled into a syllable. 

“Micheal thinks you’re shutting down,” she blurted in the face of that look, unable to stop the flow of words. Max knew her too well, even after ten years of separation, and even when he was bleeding himself, he would try to heal her. It was a ridiculous dynamic, one that couldn’t continue if they wanted a real chance at a relationship. They had to be able to tell each other the truth, even when it hurt, and lean on one another. Liz had been in enough failed relationships to know that was true. 

So, taking a deep breath, Liz grabbed both of Max’s hands and tangled their fingers together, like he’d done for her on the hilltop where they’d kissed for the first time, and looked straight into wide, panicked eyes, as calm as she ever was. “He said you’ve been missing shifts and sleeping all of the time, and that you’re not eating, and I haven’t noticed. I thought he was being over-protective or something, but I got here, and—“ She nodded vaguely at the bed, and squeezed his hands again, refusing to let him pull away even when his expression shuttered with anger. 

“Micheal shouldn’t have said anything to you,” he growled, betrayal written in the lines of his face. He’d gone tense, stock-still, and even his fingers in hers felt cold and unwelcoming in that moment. She’d fucked this up already, just as she’d known she would. Micheal sent her here to help, but the remote, furious expression on Max’s face was definitely the opposite of comforted.

“He’s worried about you, Max,” Liz insisted, knowing she should tread lightly, but failing. She had always been unfailingly blunt and straight-forward— like a bull, her Papa had joked once, knocking down every barrier in her path. That mentality left her woefully unprepared for this sort of thing, just as she had been when Maria needed a shoulder to cry on. Liz was good at science. Emotions didn’t follow the same rules. “And so am I.”

If it was possible, Max expression grew even more remote, and Liz desperately wanted to see the usual mixture of love and desire that had always been in his gaze when Max looked at her. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Liz. I’m fine.” The lie was punctuated by the stronger man pulling his fingers from her grip and moving toward the bedroom door, like the space was suddenly too small to contain both of them. Electricity crackled in the air in his wake, making the tiny hair on Liz’s arms stand at attention, and she hurried after him, frantically searching for the right words.

“What, you’re allowed to put your life on the line to save mine, and worry after my safety constantly, but I’m not allowed to worry about you?” The words weren’t soft, or sweet, but Max paused in the hallway outside the bedroom, which was enough for Liz. He’d fallen for her knowing her faults, after all— and that included her low tolerance for bullshit. “Come on, Max. If you love me, there’s got to be some trust there, too, doesn’t there? You were mad Micheal told me; that makes it sound like he was right. So just talk to me. Let me try to help. Please.”

He was still facing away from her, staring out toward the main areas of the house like they were a tempting escape, and the muscles in his shoulders still rippled with tension, but he wasn’t leaving. That was enough for Liz. She stepped closer, standing on tip-toe so she could press her lips to the name of his neck and hug him tightly from behind, one of her hands coming to rest protectively over his heart. 

In her arms, Max shuddered, and his head hung low for another painfully long moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry.” The apology was probably more for the energy that had zinged from him, but Liz took it as a blanket for the last several minutes. “Micheal was here earlier, and Alex, and he’s just so normal, even with Isobel’s life in danger, even with the government looking into us, and people planning how to capture us and cut us up, and—“

“And you couldn’t take any more pretending,” Liz finished softly, releasing Max from the tight embrace to move around him and lead him from the cramped space of the hallway to the kitchen, where dinner was still waiting. “I get that. Micheal’s so good at hiding how he feels that I want to punch him sometimes, too.” The two almost-brothers were opposites, two puzzle pieces shoved together by a forceful hand so that they fit, but we’re constantly stabbing each other with jagged edges. Micheal wanted to be there for Max, and Liz respected that, but he’d been right when he said he wasn’t the right person. Not now. Maybe someday, when their friendship had enough time to heal the cracks and fissures Rosa’s death had left.

Max sat heavily on one of the kitchen barstools, and Liz took the opportunity to heat the burgers she’d brought in the microwave. It wouldn’t be a great meal, but it was something— and she doubted Max had been grocery shopping regularly, even if she wanted to try to make something else. 

“I do trust you.” The proclamation was apropos of nothing in the middle of dinner, and Liz looked up with a mouthful of food, surprised. “I do,” Max said firmly, and for the first time since she’d arrived, he reached for her, curling his long fingers around her wrist. “I just— I haven’t really known how to explain, and there hasn’t been time. With Manes after us, and you and Alex dragged in the middle, there’s too much riding on all of us staying calm and keeping it together. I couldn’t—“

“The world isn’t going to end if you take a few days off,” Liz said, when Max showed no signs of finishing that sentence. He’d eaten his entire burger and some of the lukewarm fries, staring at her for the duration, but it hadn’t seemed to give him energy. He still looked just as drained. “Alex is watching his dad, and when he makes a move, we’ll know. Micheal and I are so close to saving Isobel, we just need a little more time— and I’m pretty sure she’d rather stay in the pod for an extra day or two than get out and find you suffering like this.” 

Tired eyes just looked back at Liz, and again, she was struck with how much she missed the usual warmth in his gaze. “It’s not . . . a day off isn’t going to help, Liz,” he said with a sigh, resting his head on his elbows. “I appreciate the thought, but this is just something I have to push though. It has been since I was a teenager.” The resignation she saw in Max made Liz want to scream; it wasn’t fair. Max was the kindest, gentlest person she knew. He’d been protecting his siblings for his entire life, and even now, when they were pushing thirty, he was giving up a support system who loved him to keep Micheal thinking that he was strong enough to keep them all safe. But depression wasn’t going to go away, not even in the face of Max’s incredible will. 

Liz was a biologist. She’d been out in the world, and she’d studied science and people, but her knowledge of mental illness had started earlier than all of that. Rosa hadn’t fallen to addiction because she was a bored kid with too much money on her hands — she’d taken drugs to stop the voices in her head. So when she died, Liz had spent a lot of time in her college courses learning about the biology of mental illness, and somehow, she doubted that it was going to be different for Max simply because he came from another planet. 

“Pushing through is good,” Liz said slowly, careful of her words in a way she wasn’t usually. She came to sit next to Max on the barstools, wishing she’d had the sense to settle him on the couch, but this was probably better. Words were important, right now. Later, she could wrap herself around him and refuse to let go for a while. “But Max, pushing through doesn’t mean pushing everyone who wants to support you away.” 

She scooted her stool forward on the tile, rubbing at his nearest knee. “I know that Isobel is usually the one who’s here, and it’s kind of my fault she can’t be right now. But I’m here. And I really want to be. You’ve kept me sane through so much, lately — let me at least hold your hand.” 

It was hard to accept that this was the same Max Evan’s who’d once laughed and kissed her in the mountains, but in a way, it was a good reminder that he was only human, no matter what his biology or incredible power to heal suggested. But Liz wasn’t the kind of person who fell for the facade presented to the world, and she’d had enough time around grown-up Max to understand — at least she hoped! — what he needed. 

“Isobel made the decision that put her in that pod, Liz.” Anger, again. For someone who had always been so rigidly in control of his more aggressive emotions, that was what she’d seen most from him, tonight. “And even she couldn’t —” he trailed off again, looking out the window rather than at her. “We’ve got a psychic connection, and she’s always been able to figure out when to push, and when to let it go. But she couldn’t fix it.” Shame, muddled with that same exhaustion, became the next emotion to break through Max’s wall, and Liz got up, draped her arms around his neck, and hugged him tight against her. 

“I can’t fix anything either,” she said quietly, her cheek against his bare shoulder. “But I want to be here. In a relationship with you. And we can’t do that if you’re constantly saving me and I’m missing all of these signs that you’re struggling. It makes me feel like I don’t know you at all.” 

Where Max had relaxed into her embrace a moment ago, he was now tense. “You do know me,” he argued quickly, and Liz could tell that he was afraid that this was her strange, roundabout way of leaving him again. She hated that he constantly jumped to thinking she was walking away, but that was a wound that only time would heal. “I’ve told you all of the important things.” 

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Liz was quick to reassure, her fingers combing through the back of his hair. “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m here. And I’m staying, for the indeterminable future. So you may as well just let me, because we both know you’re not nearly as stubborn as I am.” She smiled, pulling back to look at him. “Let me be the tough one for tonight, okay? I promise I’ll give you back the mantle tomorrow.” 

The laugh she got in response was short, but genuine, and Liz was willing to take that and run with it. She pressed her palm to Max’s cheek, stroking her thumb along the growth of his beard, and beamed at him. “I’m taking that as a yes. Want to watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick, just for tonight.” 

Max glanced down at his bare chest and sweats, then looked back at her. Some of the warmth she was used to was back in his eyes, and she felt it all the way down to her bones. “I should probably shower first,” he said slowly. “I can’t imagine I smell great, right now.” 

In all honesty, Liz hadn’t even noticed. But if he’d been skipping work and staying in bed, it stood to reason that basic hygiene had taken a back seat to depression. “Okay,” she agreed immediately. “Then I’ll pick the movie. And make some popcorn or something, and you can get a shower.” 

Even with the decision made, Max didn’t move from his spot on the barstool, and reached quickly for her hand when she withdrew it from his face, like he wasn’t quite ready to be parted from her. 

“Or — you could come with me?” 

The moment he said it, Max looked like he wanted to take the words back, but Liz didn’t shoot the idea down. Instead, she just raised an eyebrow, her hand still caught in his. “I’m not having sex with you tonight,” she told him calmly. “But if you want me to come with you, I will.” The idea of staying close to the man made her feel content, and Liz wasn’t afraid that she wouldn’t be able to control herself. Like this, all she wanted to do was be there for Max — she wasn’t going to sign up to be a sexual distraction. That never worked, in the long run, and she should know. Besides, Max looked so tired that she doubted he would have any interest in her body, aside from the reassuring physical contact he seemed to crave.

There was a short, dry chuckle, and Max sighed self-deprecatingly. “I doubt I’d be able to stay awake,” he admitted. And if he was disappointed at her firm insistence, he didn’t show it, which told her she was right, that he was too worn down to even consider anything even resembling sex tonight. Maybe Liz was better at reading him than she thought. 

“So…?” She wasn’t following him into the bathroom without an express invitation; there was a line here somewhere, even if it was hard to find between them, now.

“I still want you to come with me,” he said finally. “If you want to.” The halting way he spoke made Liz wonder if it was as hard for him as it was for her to ask for help, to admit that he didn’t want to be alone. She suspected the answer was yes. 

“Okay,” Liz said simply, and stood up to lead Max back down the hall to the master bathroom attached to his bedroom, their hands still tangled together. It was clear he didn’t want to let go of her, and while Liz would have been annoyed with her ex-fiancée if he’d clung this way, with Max, she embraced it. He’d been so isolated for so long, his secret building walls around him that only Isobel and Micheal had even a chance to penetrate— of course he wanted someone to hold him, now. Alien or not, Max was the most human person she knew— and touch was a human imperative.

Talk was just that; useful sometimes, but just now, pointless. They both knew why Max was struggling. There was so much going wrong in their lives that it was a miracle he hadn’t succumbed sooner. So Liz focused on gestures; she reached out and slid her hands over his broad shoulders and pushed him gently into the shower once his sweats had puddled on the floor. She even managed to keep her gaze on his face while she did, a fact for which she was proud of herself. 

Max showed her the same courtesy— of course he did— as she stripped down. The temptation to leave on her underclothes was there, but Liz tamped down on it as ridiculous; who showered in a bra and underwear? No one. All that would do was suggest she was uncomfortable, or make Max think she didn’t trust him.

And okay, maybe she was a little uncomfortable. It was strange to be naked with a man without passion fogging her thoughts, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands once she was in the shower except leave them limp at her sides, forcibly away from covering herself. For a moment, the two of them just stare at each other, Max apparently as struck by the fact that they were truly in the shower together as Liz was. As usual, he’s the one with the right words. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his eyes dipping low, over her body in a way that just made her feel warm, rather than self-conscious. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she quipped back, and grabbed the bottle of men’s shampoo from the shelf behind her. But flirting would lead to kissing, and kissing in these circumstances would undoubtedly lead to other things, so Liz quickly changed the subject. “Now get down here and let me get your hair.”

It was an awkward angle; Max towered over her, and even stopped, Liz could barely get his hair wet in the streaming water. After struggling for a moment, Max solves the problem and went to his knees, and, after a second’s hesitation rested his head against her bare stomach. Liz stared down at his thick hair in surprise— the position he was in was a vulnerable one. She didn’t think she could allow herself to fall to her knees in front of anyone like that, not without serious damage to her pride, but there was Max, kneeling in front of her like an old-fashioned knight bowing to his queen. 

Slowly, Liz slid her fingers through his wet hair, and leaned up to adjust the shower head so the spray would hit them more effectively. With that done, she resumed washing Max’s hair, keeping every touch gentle and soothing. It was more of a scalp massage than a great way to get the shampoo out of his hair, but judging by the way his eyes had slid closed and he was leaning more heavily against her, Max didn’t mind. “Don’t fall asleep,” she chided quietly, finishing with his hair. “I don’t think I do much else in this position. Want to stand up so I can wash your back?”

Max shook his head, tickling her skin with his hair. “I don’t really want to move,” he admitted, quiet enough that the words were hard to hear over the sound of running water. 

“The water’s going to get cold eventually,” Liz reminded him, pushing back a dripping lock of hair from his forehead. “And kneeling on porcelain like that has got to be killing your knees.” It was still astounding to her that he would be willing to get on his knees in front of anyone at all; Max was as proud as she was, in his own way, and relied so much on his own strength that she wouldn’t have expected it from him— no matter how he felt about her.

“Worth it,” Max murmured into her stomach. “I’ve never been this close to you for this long, and I don’t want it to end.”

Again, the nonchalance with which Max could just— say those things, things that she would be so terribly embarrassed to feel, let alone say aloud, sent Liz for a spin. Her hands stalled in his hair, and Max stiffened almost immediately in response. The light above them in the ceiling flickered, and Liz winced, kicking herself. 

“Sorry,” Max mumbled, pulling away from her and getting to his feet before she could even try to stop him. “You’re right. We should get out.” He sounded dull, subdued, and Liz was one-hundred percent certain he was reading all the wrong things into her reactions.

“No!” Liz blurted, grabbing his arm. It was harder to ignore the fact that they were both completely naked now, while they were face-to-face and close enough that she could feel his breath, and Liz swallowed convulsively, her fingers tightening on his forearm. “I mean, yes, we should get out, but only because the water is getting cold— and because every time you say something like that, I really want to kiss you, and that is definitely not a good idea right now.”

If Max could be that open about his feelings for her, then dammit, Liz could return it. She was not going to waste time being embarrassed over that admission. She wasn’t. The red on her cheeks was just … leftover warmth from the shower. 

“I thought it had been pretty well established that I always want you to kiss me,” Max drawled, turning the water off without looking away from her. A glimmer of warmth was back in his eyes as they stared at each other, and before Liz could think better of it, she leaned up on her toes and kissed him chastely, both of her hands cupping his cheeks. 

“That’s all you’re getting for now, because I’m only human,” Liz said with a throaty chuckle, and stepped out of the shower to grab a towel and wrap it around her hair before it managed to drip everywhere. A second one found its way around her body, and within a moment, she was patting Max dry with the third. He obediently turned and lifted his arms when prompted, looking bemused by her care-taking, and slid into the soft t-shirt and sweats that were folded on the back of the toilet without any fuss. 

Taking care of Max was … well, it left Liz feeling pretty good. The impact her mere presence had on him was obvious, and not for the first time, she wondered why he hadn’t let Micheal come in, or asked her to come over early. She wasn’t ignorant enough to believe that some time with another person, no matter how well-intentioned, was enough to cure depression, but support and care was always a good bandaid. Surely he knew that, if he’d been dealing with it for so long? 

“Did you still want to watch a movie?” Max’s question caught her by surprise; she’d been staring at him as she considered the question, Liz realized, and he looked a little bewildered by her intense scrutiny. 

Liz nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. You go pick one while I get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the living room.” 

For a moment, she wasn’t sure separating was the right idea, but it was only for a moment, and it gave her some time to take a deep breath and get herself back together. Max nodded his agreement, brushed a kiss to the crown of her head, and disappeared out into the hallway, leaving her alone with her thoughts. 

She dressed quickly, pulling her leggings and tank top on swiftly and leaving the jacket off. There wasn’t a need for all of those extra layers for cuddling on the couch — in fact, if she didn’t think it would have invited things neither of them were ready for that night, she may have left her leggings off entirely and just worn the long shirt. Once she’d finished, Liz tied her hair up into a slovenly bun and left the bathroom, detouring to Max’s room to scoop his duvet and pillows off of the mattress.

When she arrived in the living room, Max was already sprawled out on the couch, Netflix queued and waiting on the TV hanging above his mantle. As Liz got closer, he looked up and smiling, a heartwrenchingly earnest smile that left no doubt in her mind that Max was happy to see her — that he wanted her here, no matter what was going on in his head, and all Liz could do was grin back. 

“Were you planning on making a pillow fort?” Max asked, eying the pile of blanket and pillows skeptically. “Because I don’t really think there’s enough room in here.” 

Liz laughed, shaking her head. “No. But movie and cuddling are always better with blankets, obviously. Here. Sit up.” She shoved one of the pillows behind him when he obliged, and tucked the other at the other end of the couch, in case they needed it later. Without slowing down, Liz sat down on the couch and scooted herself between his legs so she could lean back and rest her head on his chest. 

They hadn’t done much of this since they started dating — there hadn’t been time, and when they were alone together, kissing and talk of Isobel or their problems had always taken priority. Now, wrapped in Max’s arms with his heartbeat beneath her cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into her own, Liz kicked herself for the time they’d lost. Making out with Max was something she enjoyed immensely, obviously, but this — this was a new level of intimacy, and one she didn’t want to lose. 

The movie started, some mindless rom-com that had been at the top of Max’s recommendations. Normally, Liz might have teased him for that, but she couldn’t summon the motivation. Instead, she turned her head and dropped a kiss over his chest. 

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked softly, peering up at his face to try to read his expression. “I mean, I know I’m not magic or anything, and showing up announced and forcing burgers down your throat isn’t actually being super helpful or supportive, so if you’re not —”

Two fingers beneath her chin cut Liz’s nervous rant off mid-sentence, a fact for which she would be supremely grateful for later. Max tipped her face up to look at him again, and when she met his eyes, she found that he was smiling crookedly at her. “How could I not feel better, with you here, like this?” he asked rhetorically, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones. “You showing up — you’re right, it’s not magic. But it’s something, and so much more than I ever thought I’d have.” He bent his head and kissed her softly, leaving Liz’s eyes closed and her entire body warm when he pulled away. “I love you,” he murmured, the breath of the words caressing her face. “More than I can ever find the words to say.” 

Liz kept her eyes closed as she leaned her forehead against his, her heart racing in her chest. She knew what she wanted to say in return, but it was too soon, too terrifying, too impossible. They’d been together for less than a week, and before that, she’d been so angry with him she’d devised a serum that could have killed him. So how could she say it? How could it be true? 

The logical part of her was the loudest, as usual, but being around Max brought out a piece of her that hadn’t existed since high school, since before Rosa’s death. A piece that believed in love and destiny and God, a piece that knew that somehow, she and Max were going to make this work. That voice whispered to her, saying that while it might be terrifying, it wasn’t too soon, or impossible. She’d known and cared for Max for her whole life — maybe, it was finally time to stop making excuses and admit it. 

Before she could overthink or talk herself out of it, Liz Ortecho took a long, deep breath, wrapped her arms around Max’s neck, and whispered, “I love you, too.”


End file.
